


shot through the heart (and you're to blame)

by KnifingGale



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: 80s songs, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bell has a Walkman, F/M, Female Bell!Reader, Inspired by Baby Driver, Rating May Change, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn-ish, soulmate au where everytime your soulmate is listening to a song you can hear it too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnifingGale/pseuds/KnifingGale
Summary: In which years after quite literal heartbreak for Bell, she’s gotten reassigned to Russell Adler’s team. Keep it professional, he had once said and so she would. If only the man himself could follow his own words as he takes an uncanny interest in her Walkman and mixtapes.OrIn which in a world where soulmates can hear the music each other listens to, Bell annoys the hell out of Russell Adler.
Relationships: Dimitri Belikov & Bell (Call of Duty), Eleazar Azoulay & Bell, Russell Adler/Bell, Russell Adler/Reader
Comments: 47
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

As you tapped your foot against the carpeted floor of the conference room to Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie, you felt your once anxious mind calm down. 

For far back as you could remember- _which really was just the year 1981_ -music with your ever trustworthy Walkman had always helped you with...well _everything_. 

It had been one of the reasons you loved that pencil-pushing job in the cubicle at Langley as an intelligence analyst. No unholy amount of paperwork could overcome the clarity you felt at the sound of music blaring through the headset at your ears, drowning out everything else in your world. There was no voices, no ringing in your ears, no screams. 

It was all just the consistent sounds of songs you listened to time and time again. 

( _And as much as you hated to admit it, there was that stubborn bit of hope that refused to die in every song you listened to. Because maybe, just maybe-you had someone out there when you had no one to call your own._ ) 

That stability you found in a world that you knew you had no place in was all thanks to an old acquaintance and now friend. Belikov must have heard from Lazar about the noise complaints from your neighbors. After all, the next time you met him at the scheduled Chicago Cubs’ game, he handed a boxed Sony Walkman WM-5 model with his usual smile under his signature blue Chicago Cubs hat. 

As much as you prized your precious Walkman, you couldn’t help but notice how the timing of the mixtapes it played was...uncanny. 

Granted, you made the mixtapes yourself. But the MK Ultra program didn’t give you foresight into the future. 

You remembered Lazar laughing amusedly at your musings about that. You swore it was true although perhaps that was the paranoia left over the MK Ultra program. 

Yet as you sat patiently at the conference table, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding that punctuated the ringing silence the Walkman had before it moved onto the next song on your mixtape. 

> **SHOT THROUGH THE HEART AND YOU'RE TO BLAME-**

As the song you had listened to for years after quite literally getting shot in the heart rang loud and clear in your ears, you registered the doorknob turning across the room. 

And suddenly, you just _knew_.

The song you had listened to for a year while getting as drunk as a fish in bars was coming back to haunt you with a vengeance. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake-” you muttered to yourself, perhaps a bit more loudly than you intended. 

Russell Adler walked through that door not a second later.

Even as you swiveled your gaze to the suddenly very fascinating waste basket at the opposite side of the room, you couldn’t help but look at your former...superior out of the corner of your eye. 

He was as calm and composed as ever. Signature sunglasses and the ever present cigarette in hand, he looked the same as he did in 1981. 

Years ago, you would have admitted that it was frustrating to be ignored that way. 

But now, all you could hope for was that he was just here to sit in for the meeting. 

If the implanted memories were any indication, Russell Adler always tied up loose ends.

And you were that one loose end that just wouldn’t die. 

Quietly sighing to yourself, you soon turned your attention to the briefing that just started. Half of the people you didn’t recognize. But you did notice the familiar figures of Lazar and Belikov sitting in the seats next to Adler. 

It must have been some time into the briefing that you felt a forceful nudge at your leg. Turning slightly, you faced your neighbor, recognizing the familiar face.

She was an analyst at the cubicles in Langley as well. Although, she had a fair resume filled with a reasonable amount of fieldwork related to the Eastern Bloc. 

“Bell,” she said as you read her lips and the frustrated look in her eyes, “Turn off that damn Walkman.” you assumed she said that in a hiss. 

Truth be told, you weren’t exactly popular among the analysts at Langley. You were rather aloof with your quiet lunches in your little cubicle and constant listening to music on your Walkman in the busy hallways. 

Suddenly, you saw the analyst’s head turn towards the upper end of the conference table. 

And just like before, you simply knew who your “neighbor” was looking at. 

“There’s no problem, sir. It’s just her-” You saw the analyst gesture to yourself before she added, “I don’t know if she was paying attention to the briefing.” 

There were several times in your line of work that you wish your conversational and social skills were more up to par....and _this_ was one of those times. 

You looked at Adler, shrouded in a sparse cloud of smoke with his signature sunglasses on. 

“Bell,” was the word you registered all too well. 

You felt the gunshot scar on your chest ache in pangs because you heard that word- _Bell **BELL** Bell_-in Vietnam all those years ago- _nonono_

It wasn’t real. And you had to listen to the advice the shrink gave you. 

They were all just surreal dreams. 

“Sir?” you quietly inquired, making sure to use the honorific. After all, there never ever was any personal feelings involved in the past and thus formality should be used to distinguish that (and deep down you knew it was for your sake because you had to draw a damn boundary between reality and whatever the hell MK Ultra planted inside you). 

For a split second, you could have sworn something crossed his face. Although, you could never tell what he was thinking behind those shades. 

“We’ve got a job to do, Bell.” You felt yourself freeze, “What is it?”   
  
He was testing you. 

_Of course_. 

“Objective is a downed American recon satellite over the Angolan desert. Secure perimeter, destroy sensitive technology, and exfil at 1300. Weapons armament is at our discretion,” you said in clipped statements before adding, “Further details will be assigned to us at a later time.” 

Much to the frustration of your “neighbor”, Adler simply nodded approvingly at you in that ever slight way before taking a drag of his cigarette. 

Luckily, the briefing was over in around 15 minutes without a hitch. 

By the time it was over, your mixtape had already gotten to Tainted Love by Soft Cell and you were already in the middle of jumping out of your chair and making a hopefully subtle dash to the hallway.

> **From the pain you drive into the heart of me**   
>  **The love we share**   
>  **Seems to go nowhere**

Suddenly, you felt a weighted, warm pressure on your shoulder and you instantly twisted around with your hand on the origin of the pressure-

-only for you to blink in consternation at the warm feeling of calloused skin against your own. 

_He’s not wearing gloves_ , you thought vaguely for a moment as you held Adler’s large calloused hand on your shoulder.

Wait-

“Sorry, sir-” you jerked away from him with an apology, “...old habits die hard.” 

' _What old habits? You had none, not with him_.' you kicked yourself mentally. 

“You should be more aware of your surroundings.” Ah, yes...The same kind of lecturing you would get in the safehouse when you would listen in on his calls...Granted that somewhat deserved, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t watching over you 24/7 like that time you saw him watching you wander around in the darkroom. 

“Yes, sir.” you simply said. It was better to be unnoticed by Adler than it was to piss him off. If you had to be the same devoted, obedient subordinate as before, so be it. 

There just wouldn’t be any personal feelings involved this time. 

(because there were none. It was never personal.)

> **And I've lost my light**   
>  **For I toss and turn I can't sleep at night**

You couldn’t help but feel rather awkward at the silence that lingered in the air. 

“If that’s all, I’ll be going now, sir.” you rather sheepishly said before moving to turn to walk away. 

“What are you listening to, kid?” Adler asked suddenly. 

“What?”

“The song,” he gestured to the Walkman secured at your waist. 

“Tainted Love,” you quickly answered, “Soft Cell.” 

You could’ve sworn you saw Adler’s lips twitch up ever so slightly in almost a rather smile....or grimace. You could never quite tell with him. 

“It’s a good song, Bell.” was all he said before walking away. 

And with that exchange, you were left alone and confused in the hallway. 

> **Once I ran to you (I ran)**   
>  **Now, I'll run from you**   
>  **This tainted love you've given**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing out Adler's character as well as even writing out a Call of Duty fanfic. Hopefully, it turned out okay. My writing is still pretty rusty at the moment. Anyways, I love writing Soulmate AUs and I found the idea of it to be interesting with a Russell Adler/Bell concept. Aside from my love for Soulmate AUs, I also just had to write out post-canon ending Bell having a Walkman and listening to music all the time with it. 
> 
> Also, in case anyone is confused, this has a canon-divergence where Bell got non-fatally shot by Adler just before getting pardoned by a high-ranking official for her efforts and then getting a pencil-pushing job as an intelligence analyst at Langley. It's somewhat based on the "happy ending AU idea" post I put on my tumblr blog. It's rather unrealistic but I decided to run with the idea since it ran well with the soulmate AU concept. 
> 
> Well, thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

> _**I hear the drums echoing tonight** _
> 
> _**But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation** _   
>  _**She's coming in, 12:30 flight-** _

“Change of plans?” you guessed, pulling your headset down to rest at your neck. You could still faintly hear the familiar sound of Toto’s _Africa_ coming from your Walkman’s headset. It took something for you to set down your Walkman. 

And upon seeing the expression on Lazar’s face, you knew it was one of those times.

After all, it was either that or someone had just broke the news to him that hamburgers were not on the menu in the outpost. Either one was important. 

Hamburgers were not breakfast food. But at this point, you’d take whatever the hell you could get. 

“Sandstorm forecasted to move in before the scheduled exfil.” Lazar explained as he leaned against the wall next to you, “Time frame’s been moved closer.”

“How soon?” you asked, already bracing yourself for whatever the hell Hudson and Adler had decided on. 

"Zero six hundred hours."

“No shit?” you sighed. The one lesson you learned in Cuba was that the devil was in the details. There had been a rush to get there. Limited intel, high risk. It was a mess from the start. 

You did not want another Cuba. 

“And that’s not even the start of it,” Lazar said agitatedly, “We’re not just parachuting in, we’re doing a damn HALO jump.” 

“Well,” you said with a sigh, “I’ll try to convince the cook to make hamburgers for the two of us while you’re gone.” Lazar had past HALO experience. Although, he never did quite like parachuting after Cuba. 

“Nice joke, Bell. We’re all going.”

“...I’m cleared for this mission?” That surprised you for more than one reason. Aside from being an agent the CIA had barely spared, you were also not cleared for a goddamned HALO jump. 

No formal training.

...Well, there was Vietnam, specifically those “memories”. You could easily recall the vivid memory of falling through the heavy fog over Laos during one of the MACV-SOG operations you were in on with Adler. 

But that didn’t count for a goddamn thing. 

This didn’t make any sense whatsoever. 

That’s all you could think about as you stood from your seat quickly and secured your Walkman at your waist as you pulled your headset back to rest at your ears. 

“Good luck with Doc, Bell,” Lazar said, already knowing what you had in mind. 

You said a quick thanks to him before making your way through the halls of the command wing of the outpost. 

After all, you sure as hell were going to need it. 

> **_I bless the rains down in Africa_ **   
>  **_Gonna take some time to do the things we never had (ooh, ooh)_**

* * *

It hadn’t taken much time to find the man in question. After all, outpost Libreville was a modestly-sized outpost located near the borders of Angola in Gabon. The airstrip built and improved over time made it ideal for special forces operations and those of the clandestine nature. 

You had found him in the once empty corner office that belonged to an officer on leave. The small space of the corner office allowed smoke to curl and cloud around the room. Despite that, you easily noticed the schematics of the satellite and reports on the predictions of the timing of the satellite's crash scattered on the desk.

“Need something, Bell?”

“Sir,” you said tensely before bracing yourself and adding, “The HALO jump...I’m not cleared for it.” 

“I cleared you for it. We’re CIA, not military,” Adler said before adding, “You’re having second doubts.” 

“I’ve never done a HALO jump in my life, sir,” you explained, “My...memories of Vietnam didn’t count for anything.” 

“Now, that’s just bullshit.” 

“What are you talking about-”

“The feedback you gave on that HALO operation over Laos. No untrained person would have been able to replicate that kind of detail,” Adler took a drag of his cigarette before adding, “The scripts, Bell. I gave you the outline, you filled in the details.” 

“With all due respect, sir,” you said tensely with a bit too much emphasis on the honorific to really be respectful, “That doesn’t mean a single damn thing when I don’t remember any of that.” 

“Bell,” you felt yourself stiffen under his gaze. He was always wearing those sunglasses and you could never tell his emotions or who he was even looking at times, “I pulled a hell of a lot of strings to get you back here. I trust you won’t disappoint me and the team.” 

You fought to stifle your shock. 

Russell “ _it was never personal_ ” Adler, the very man who put a round in your chest point-blank, was the one to request your reassignment to the team?

And of course there was that damnable feeling that lingered in your chest. 

Everything about you was linked back to this team. It was your anchor in this new life of yours. And it felt...good to be back…

And as much as you wanted to deny it because really it was just such a damnable foolish feeling-

“I...I won’t let you down, sir.” 

-you couldn’t help but feel relieved that Adler wanted you back.

And really wasn’t that just _pathetic_? 

You felt the stinging sensation in your palm as nails pressed into your gloved palms. The sudden tightness in your chest made for a sudden urge to just get out of that small corner office. 

_It was the smoke_ , you told yourself. It lingered heavily in the cramped space. Of course, it would cause your chest to tighten. 

Despite the sudden, desperate urge to just _leave_ , you remained rooted to the spot at the front of Adler’s desk. 

“If the main chute fails to deploy and affects the reserve chute, how am I supposed to react in time?”

“Do whatever it takes to get it open,” Adler simply answered before adding, “If that doesn’t work...well I would say aim for the bushes. But we’re going to be in the fucking desert. Aim for a sand dune and pray it’s quick.” 

“Good advice,” was all you could quietly say. 

...sometimes it still felt as if he _wanted_ you to die. 

“Anything else, kid?”

You took a breath. If you were going to die...well-

“About my Walkman…” 

You were going to go out the way you wanted. 

* * *

Lazar must have known your little conversation with Adler in his corner office wouldn’t take that long as he was standing in the nearby corridor with a rather grave look. 

“Come on,” he had simply said, “I need backup in the cafeteria. Apparently it’s Chili Tuesday…” 

Food was the last thing on your mind. 

So honestly you hadn’t paid much attention to that little bit of information. 

Although, you had bothered to switch out your mixtape which had long since stopped playing with the only other cassette you had on your person. You vaguely trading with one of the soldiers on the military transport you flew in on to get a new cassette tape. You could only bring a limited amount of items with you and you didn't want to risk breaking any of your priority cassette tapes. And you needed a song that you hadn't listened to before...even if it wasn't what you normally lent towards. 

> **_Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and filet gumbo_ **   
>  **_'Cause tonight i'm gonna meet ma cher amio_ **   
>  **_PIck guitar, fill fruit jar and be gayo-_ **

_Of course_ , it just happened to be about food. 

Trying to stop yourself from muttering about how your Walkman had to be cursed, you had just nodded and followed him down the corridors to the cafeteria. It was a fairly-sized open space with the usual setup. 

Although, strangely there weren’t many soldiers there. It was almost time for meal service. 

“Still on for the mission?” Lazar asked as the two of you sat yourselves down on the same table Sims had situated himself at. 

“Yeah," you admitted before adding, "I swear he’s trying to kill me.” Although, you didn't really want to think about that. It was out of your control at this point.

“Well, you are Adler’s protégé,” Sims casually commented, looking up from his plate of...food? “I heard lions throw their cubs off cliffs to make them strong or shit like that. Maybe Adler’s doing the same to you.” 

“I’m not his-” you cut yourself off. There was something more important you noticed, “Wait how did you get that?” 

It was baked beans. Perfectly normal and cooked beans. 

Nothing remarkable but it was _normal_ , the standard canned kind. 

“Heard about Chili Tuesday, specifically this one. Apparently, they’re serving 20-year old rations to us due to a supply shortage. They’re quite stingy-” 

“How did you get it, Sims?” Lazar interjected. 

“I have my ways of procurement.” And as you heard the exchange prices Sims listed, your jaw dropped. 

You already had to pay for all those mixtapes and cassettes you bought on a weekly basis. You weren’t going to spend that much on some cans of beans at an outpost in the middle of nowhere. 

Yet as you saw the churning red mass somehow called chili put on the cafeteria pans, you felt your stomach roll. 

The idea of eating _that_ before a HALO jump in the next few hours-

“Where are you going?” Sims asked as you stood from your seat abruptly. 

“I have a mixtape to make.” you said, hurriedly excusing yourself. You’d rather have hunger pains than eat that before jumping off a C-13 Hercules at 30,000 ft in the air. 

> **_Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and filet gumbo-_ **

_Nope_ , you thought fervently as you pressed pause on your Walkman. You did not want to be thinking about food right now. 

Although, truly what you told Sims wasn’t quite a lie. 

If you were going to go HALO jumping with no conscious experiences whatsoever, you were going to at least die trying with your Walkman. 

All you had to now was make a whole new mixtape in the three hours you had remaining. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I planned out and expected: An action-packed chapter of the Angola mission.  
> What I ended up writing: a chapter that is 40% Bell freaking out about doing a HALO jump and then coming to terms with it thanks to her Walkman, 25% Adler and Belle interaction, and 35% Lazar and Bell thinking about food.
> 
> Anyways, this chapter was a bit slow since I'm the kind of writer who likes to have intermission scenes between action/missions. So I kinda viewed this chapter as almost a safehouse intermission like in the campaign. I just like writing some down-time and personal interaction between characters. 
> 
> But the next chapter will have action in it since it will be going over the Angola satellite mission! 
> 
> Honestly, I stressed over whether or not to include the chili scene for a couple hours and it nearly made me think of just scrapping this chapter. But I decided against it since I did like having personal interaction between Lazar, Bell, and Sims. That and I kept on thinking back to the burger conversation in the safehouse between Lazar and Sims. XD
> 
> On a side note, I put in Jambalaya (On the Bayou) by Hank Williams as one of the songs in this chapter since realistically Bell would probably only be able to carry around a limited number of cassette tapes for her Walkman (both due to limited cargo and risk of damaging them). So she'd probably trade with others at times to get fresh songs (most of them being "filler" to block out the noise and ringing) to listen to on the long flight. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading! I really appreciated the warm response to this fic. Hopefully, this chapter doesn't disappoint too much. I'll try and post the next chapter as soon as I can.


	3. Chapter 3

As you listened to the familiar gradual crescendo of _Morning Mood_ overlap with the regular hiss of your oxygen mask, you looked around the darkly lit interior of the C-130. Red netting that comprised the seats stood out starkly against the dark interior. It was certainly uncomfortable but nothing you haven’t dealt with before. 

Aside from the several MI6 operatives sent as support for the operation, Belikov and Sims were seated next to you while Adler was seated across from you with some files in hand. Although, you didn’t know how he could read them in the darkly lit cabin while also having sunglasses on. 

You almost wished you brought sunglasses like Adler always did. The harsh desert sunlight was going to be quite the shock. But you were never sure how the hell he kept those things on his head. He somehow managed to do that in Cuba. 

Speaking of the man…

“How does he do that?” you asked lowly, well as quietly as you could in the cabin of a C-130 Hercules with an oxygen mask on and a walkman blaring Morning Mood, “I always see him with a cigarette yet he’s doing fine up here.” 

“Doc?” Sims replied before adding, “He knows how to handle hypoxia. Hell, he was one of the first in our unit to go through with HALO jumping in its experimental days.” 

You recalled that from your “memories” of being on Adler’s team in MACV-SOG. That did come up once in a conversation. Although, like everything else that “happened” in Vietnam, it was foggy. 

Truth be told, you were a bit envious. 

Adler could be a chain smoker and take only a quick breather with the oxygen mask while you and the rest of the team had to breathe through an oxygen mask for most of the flight to flush out nitrogen in the body. 

You must have trailed off into your thoughts at one point as you felt an elbow nudge you out of your thoughts. You glanced over at Sims only to notice the very topic of your idle thoughts staring at you. 

You stared at him for several moments before simply blinking. You were too tired and hungry for this especially after Lazar spent a whole 30 minutes talking with Sims about quarter pound burgers...

“Anything I can help you with, sir?” you asked tiredly. You saw his hands move minutely as if he wanted to take a drag from a non-existent cigarette. 

_Habit_ , you thought vaguely. Military plane transport rides must be quite annoying to him since he couldn’t smoke in the military transport. 

“I had a friend in Vietnam,” Adler began abruptly with his voice taking that familiar turn you heard before, “His canopy got tangled after a collision with one of our own during terminal. He ended up in the treetops. Alive though that wasn’t a damn mercy.” 

...Really at this point, you weren’t sure if Adler was conducting psychological warfare on you or not. 

“...that’s uh unfortunate,” you said awkwardly, not quite sure of what exactly to say to that story. 

Especially since the very thought of crashing like Adler’s buddy was something you were trying to keep off your mind. 

You really were just too tired for a sudden story time with Adler, especially since you couldn’t figure out his angle like this. You’ve pulled all-nighters before back in your desk job at Langley but you had caffeine. Coffee had not been offered in the outpost and most of the team was going through caffeine withdrawal...hard. 

Well, Belikov was fine considering how he primarily drank tea in the morning but you and Sims on the other hand...

“I wasn’t finished,” Adler stated before adding as if simply stating a fact, “His radio wasn’t working. He was alone and panicking. _You_ won’t.”

 _Oh_. 

“...Understood.” was all you could quietly say as you turned your head to the side, suddenly finding the cargo box of M16s to be quite interesting. 

Perhaps if you had a heavy dose of caffeine, you’d have come with a more clever response to Adler's apparent vote of confidence or...support? You really didn’t know. 

Things really did seem simpler the last time you were on his team. 

Regardless, as you heard the pilots announce over the intercom about the approach to the drop zone, you couldn’t help but feel steadier. 

It was time. 

> **_Watching in a trance_ **
> 
> **_The crew is certain_ **
> 
> **_Nothing left to chance_ **
> 
> **_All is working_ **
> 
> **_Trying to relax_ **

“Bell, my friend!” Belikov said rather cheerily while adjusting the straps of his harness as if he wasn’t just about to jump from a plane 30,000 ft in the air, “You ready for this?” 

“...You’ll get my life insurance benefits.”

And really that was an answer in and of itself. 

All that earned you was an amused laugh by Belikov and a slap on the back as he cheerily said, “Just aim for the bushes!” 

As you chuckled at his jest, you vaguely noted that your own harness was a little too loose as it had shifted from the simple action. 

> **_Up in the capsule_ **
> 
> **_"Send me up a drink."_ **
> 
> **_Jokes Major Tom_ **
> 
> **_The count goes on..._ **

“There is always the reserve parachute, да?” The light-heartedness in his voice made you couldn’t help but relax minutely. Although, you couldn’t help the giddy feeling that had nagged at you since the start of the plane ride. 

There were numerous possible scenarios where the reserve chute failed that ran through your mind at that moment: mispacking, entanglement of both the main and reserve parachutes, premature activation of the AAD...

And really it wasn’t quite the possibility of death that scared you as much as it was surviving a bad fall and dealing with the injuries...and the health insurance afterwards. 

The medical bills for the gunshot wound courtesy of Adler nearly made you go broke. 

“Well, at least I’ll die to the sound of Major Tom. There’s worse ways to die.” you murmured to yourself with Belikov looking curiously at you. 

But all you did was simply nod at Belikov as you busied yourself with getting the harness properly fitted to your form. 

Like Lazar, the man always had a way of lightening things.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sounding of the alarm. You noticed the light at the ramp turned to yellow for standby. 

The pilots were about to give the go-ahead for the drop. 

As you fell into line with the other operatives of the operation field team on standby near the ramp, you fidgeted with the straps of the oxygen mask on your head as well as the harness before checking the jump bottle attached to your harness. 

“Alright, guys,” Adler curtly said, “You know the drill. Keep the formation tight. I don’t want to see anyone trekking through the desert for miles to get to the satellite site.” 

Somehow, you felt that last bit was directed at you with how the man’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before looking over at the others. 

And you could tell the others felt the same way. The MI6 members were already looking at you as if you were the “problem child” of the group. 

Truthfully, you expected _that,_ considering your rather...notable past even though you could only recall a handful of memories from it at best. 

If there was a bit of a bounce in your step as you lined up with your assigned group formation at the ramp, well you certainly weren’t going to pay no mind to the looks it may garner. 

You were going to be jumping out of an airplane at 30,000 ft while listening to Major Tom. 

_Fewer pleasures in life_ , you told yourself. 

With a beep over the plane’s intercom system and the switch to the green light, the first cracks of painfully bright sunlight streamed into the dark interior of the plane. 

The glare of the desert sun only got more intense as the ramp fully unloaded. You could see the cloudless, clear blue skies and yellow sand dunes being akin to small yellow hills in the distance down below. 

As you followed the MI16 operative in front of you to the now open ramp, you took a deep, steadying breath through your oxygen mask. 

It was time. 

You secured the glasses on your face as you motioned silently with your free hand, signalling the countdown of _Major Tom_ to yourself. 

**_4_ **

**_3_ **

**_2_ **

**_1-_ **

And on a wing and a prayer, you let yourself just _fall_.

> **_Earth below us_ **
> 
> **_Drifting, falling_ **
> 
> **_Floating weightless_ **
> 
> **_Calling, calling home…_ **

You could feel your heartbeat thudding in your chest as your stomach dropped. The adrenaline rush was similar to your previous jumps. 

Although, you didn’t quite feel this...giddy. 

Looking down, you read the marked dials of your altimeter at your wrist. 

_29,500 ft._

All you had to do was follow the “leader” or rather navigator in this case and make sure the parachute was deployed. If shit hit the fan, well...there was always your automatic activation device to deploy the main or reserve parachutes. 

You vaguely noticed the sharp hiss of the oxygen mask as you took each and every breath became louder and louder. 

Even as the low music in your headset- _secured by your helmet_ -played the verses of _Major Tom_ , you could still hear the whistling of the wind in your ears. 

“Approaching drop zone.” you heard the navigator’s voice come over the radio. As you listened to the confirmations over the radio by the other operatives, you shook your head idly. The whistling of the wind was triggering the ringing in your ears apparently. 

> **_Second stage is cut, we're now in orbit_ **
> 
> **_Stabilizers up, running perfect_ **
> 
> **_Starting to collect requested data_ **
> 
> **_"What will it effect, when all is done?"_ **
> 
> **_Thinks Major Tom_ **

You looked down at your altimeter yet again only to see a blur of red, orange, and blue at your wrist- 

And suddenly, there was a flash of light before your eyes. 

* * *

> _**Back at ground control** _
> 
> _**There is a problem** _
> 
> _**"Go to rockets full."** _
> 
> _**Not responding** _
> 
> _**"Hello Major Tom** _
> 
> _**Are you receiving?** _
> 
> _**Turn the thrusters on** _
> 
> _**We're standing by."** _
> 
> _**There's no reply** _

You vaguely registered the static of the radio in your ears. 

_“We’ve got a job to do, Bell-”_

_“Wake the hell up!”_

You blinked. Why the hell was Adler calling you on the radio like that? You had only blinked for a split second-

And then you looked down at your altimeter. 

_4,000 ft._

What...what the hell-

“ _Your main chute is fucked, kid. You need to do a cutaway with your hook knife-”_ Yes...your hook knife. You reached over to the harness straps where you pulled the hook knife out from the pocket there. 

_“Yes, good, now cut the lines.”_

You blinked. 

There...there were a lot of lines. 

Almost like that of a cat’s cradle game...

_“Bell, focus.”_

You were already sawing away at the tangled white lines of your main parachute. They were twisted so at least you sawed several out in one go-

_“2,000 ft.”_

“...sir...I uh dropped my hook knife.” you said hazily with a sheepish laugh. 

“Then use your _other_ knife.” 

_Oh_. 

“Yessir.”

It really was supposed to be simple. But really reaching for the knife in your thigh holster was an awkward affair when falling at terminal velocity. 

You brought your knee closer up to yourself as you reached for the knife. Suddenly, you felt the world spin-

_“Bell, you’re going sideways. Get the knife. Now.”_

You felt the firm handle of the knife as you quickly brought it up to the lines above you and dragged the edge across the parachute cord lines. 

_“1,000 ft. Hurry the fuck up, Bell. Your AAD will deploy at any second now.”_

Your AAD...oh _fuck_. 

How the hell had you forgotten about that...

> _**4, 3, 2, 1  
>  Earth below us  
>  Drifting, falling  
>  Floating weightless  
>  Calling, calling home...** _

On a hope and prayer, you sliced through the last remaining line and just prayed that the reserve chute wouldn’t get entangled on the main parachute you had just cut away. 

_700 ft._

_Belikov_ , you thought with resignation, _I sure hope you get my life insurance benefits_. 

And just like that, you felt like a Soviet heavy soldier had just suckerpunched you with a cinderblock. 

> _**Across the stratosphere  
>  A final message:  
>  "Give my wife my love."  
>  Then nothing more** _

* * *

You stared down at the-relatively-solid ground beneath you. The grains of sand were hot to the touch even as you wore gloves. 

Were you dead…?

Suddenly, you felt a hand wrench away the oxygen mask you wore. You looked up into the blazing sun only to squint and see a dark figure.

There was the distinct smell of nicotine and smoke…

“Sir?” you asked only to see a large gloved hand holding a dark grey oxygen mask and shoving it onto your face. 

“Breathe.”

It wasn’t a request. 

You took a deep breath, hearing the hiss of oxygen and finally registering the ending notes of _Major Tom_. Wait, the next song was about to begin-

You shot to your feet, pulling the mask away from your face and handing it back to Adler. 

“I’m fine,” you swore fervently with a perhaps bit too forced of a smile. 

Sure, you were a bit dazed. 

But that was just the adrenaline working its magic, right? 

You unclipped the bag attached to your waist and quickly got out your XM4 with the magazine loaded and ready after two trusty taps on your helmet. 

“You’re experiencing decompression sickness right now, kid.” Adler sighed. You couldn’t help but wince at that slightly. 

You had disappointed him. Although, you had warned him about your inexperience with HALO jumping. 

“Just do overwatch for the operation at the cliff side.”

You opted to just obediently nod. 

You’d keep overwatch over the site unless the marked targets were secured and destroyed by the marked time designations. 

If that wasn’t the case...well you always had your good ol’ trusty C4 in your bag. 

* * *

As it would turn out, things became a shitshow. 

Apparently Perseus supplied their hired DGI soldiers with more aid than expected. The team had come into the site expecting all kinds of things. Assault helicopters, spy planes, artillery-

But not _radio jammers_. 

Well, there was Plan B…

But you hadn’t seen the signal for it yet. 

And so you turned off your radio, no longer wanting to hear the crackling static of it all. 

Looking down the scope of your XM4 rifle, you decided to finally resume playing your Walkman. 

> **_Sun is shinin' in the sky_ **
> 
> **_There ain't a cloud in sight_ **
> 
> **_It's stopped rainin' everybody's in the play_ **
> 
> **_And don't you know_ **
> 
> **_It's a beautiful new day, hey hey_ **

Humming the merry little tune lightly to yourself, you fired several shots in a short burst through the skull of a DGI soldier emerging from the small canyon where the satellite had crashed. The body crumpled to the ground and you saw a shadow dart away from the entrance to the canyon. That was the tenth one you sniped down so far-

Your thoughts were cut short by the sight of blue smoke contrasting sharply against the yellow sand dunes. 

_Plan B it was then_ , you mused to yourself. 

> **_Runnin' down the avenue_ **
> 
> **_See how the sun shines brightly in the city_ **
> 
> **_On the streets where once was pity_ **
> 
> **_Mr. Blue Sky is living here today, hey hey_ **

Electric Light Orchestra’s _Mr. Blue Sky_ graced your ears under the clear blue skies of Angola as you soon descended down to the canyon floor. Your gloved hands tightly gripped the ropes. 

The last thing you needed was to make another abrupt fall and land on your ass. 

As you let go of the ropes and fell the remaining several feet to the floor, you scanned your surroundings. The rocks to your left were a good cover in case the enemy tried to flank or ambush you. 

Although, you couldn’t afford to play defense at the moment. 

_Plant the C4 and get the hell out of dodge_ , you told yourself. 

> **_Mr. Blue Sky please tell us why_ **
> 
> **_You had to hide away for so long (so long)_ **
> 
> **_Where did we go wrong?_ **

However, even the best laid plans were burned away by the fog of war.

And just as you finally arrived at the designated Zone A of the KH-9 satellite crash site, yours were stomped to pieces by all too familiar steps. 

Well, _shiitake_. 

It was your worst kind of enemy.

A _Heavy_.

Now, you could just waste an entire magazine trying to shoot that impossibly sturdy bucket off their head. But that would give away your position, expose you to those damn concussion grenades, _and_ deplete your ammo. 

Hence why you decided on the only _rational_ thing to do. 

You were going to kill that buckethead with your trusty 7-inch bowie knife. 

> **_Hey you with the pretty face_ **
> 
> **_Welcome to the human race_ **
> 
> **_A celebration, Mr. Blue Sky's up there waitin'_ **
> 
> **_And today is the day we've waited for_ **

With a light whistle from your lips, you heard the Heavy’s footsteps approach your location. 

_Just like Belikov taught_ , you thought as you readied your Magnum, cocking the hammer back. 

The large shadow cast from their figure was already past your hiding place behind the rock. 

They walked closer and closer until you could see the heavily armored plates protecting their legs walking past you. 

And then you took the shot. 

There was a muffled, strangled cry of pain from the DGI Heavy as they staggered back from the shot. You took advantage of the momentum by lunging from behind, sinking the bowie knife deep into the narrow gap between the helmet and the neck. 

The height difference made it somewhat difficult but you could deal with it. 

> **_Hey there Mr. Blue_ **
> 
> **_We're so pleased to be with you_ **
> 
> **_Look around see what you do_ **
> 
> **_Everybody smiles at you_ **

That small fleshy opening was just enough for you to sink your knife several inches in. 

You were quite sure you nicked the carotid artery. 

But that wasn’t nearly a quick enough death. 

Still, you didn’t have time to go for a second strike. A short burst of gunfire erupted from their LMG. You ducked back under the cover of the rock that really was just getting obliterated by the LMG fire.

You silently counted. It wouldn’t take long for them to be forced to reload and throw a concussion grenade your way. 

They _always_ did that. 

It was simply protocol that came from training. 

And you would use that against them. 

> **_Mr. Blue, you did it right_ **
> 
> **_But soon comes Mr. Night creepin' over_ **
> 
> **_Now his hand is on your shoulder_ **
> 
> **_Never mind I'll remember you this_ **
> 
> **_I'll remember you this way_ **

And true as church bells rang on Sundays, you heard the rapid fire of the LMG die down and you fired a quick round from your Magnum at the Heavy before lunging. 

This time, you didn’t half-ass it. 

Large hands were already heavy punches at your ribs but your padded combat vest absorbed most of the blows. Not stopping your momentum, you forced the bowie knife in through the same fleshy gap. This time though, it was a frontal attack. 

You felt the knife enter smoothly into the neck until it hit resistance in the muscle protecting the jugular vein and then you just _twisted_ it. There was a choking gurgling sound erupting from the Heavy’s throat as you felt the hands now grappling at your shoulders squeeze painfully before relaxing. 

You severed their jugular and carotid artery. 

It was only when you withdrew the knife from the neck of the Heavy that you noticed the wet feeling on your eyelashes as you blinked. You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your glove. You stared down at the crimson stain on the fabric when you pulled your hand back. 

Your hands never really were clean.

With a sigh, you stood up from straddling the dead body and set your knife in its sheath at your thigh.

You still had to plant that C4-

And that’s when you heard it. 

That all too familiar beeping sound. 

It had been nearly instinct for you to simply drop to the ground and partially roll the still heavily-armored corpse of the Heavy to face you, shielding you from the direction the inevitable detonation was going to come from. 

Of course like clockwork, the beeping stopped. 

> **_Hey there Mr. Blue (sky)_ **
> 
> **_We're so pleased to be with you (sky)_ **
> 
> **_Look around see what you do (blue)_ **
> 
> **_Everybody smiles at you-_ **

(And you proceeded to see stars in your vision as you felt what seemed to be a cannonball slam into you.)

* * *

“Bloody hell! Are you okay?” you heard an accented voice ask above you. 

It was one of those MI6 field agents sent as support for the operation. 

“Yeah,” you murmured hazily, blinking away the blotches of color and stars still littering your vision, “I...uh should have paid more attention.” 

You didn’t quite know how you missed one of the operatives planting C4 at Zone A. They must have been stealthy about it while you were in the middle of stabbing a Heavy repeatedly in the neck. 

“Sorry about that, mate. I got a bit overzealous with the C4. We’re about to head to exfil.” the operative offered out his arm to you which you quickly took. Your balance was still wobbly as you could hear the deafening ringing in your ears drown out whatever songs your Walkman was playing. 

Speaking of your Walkman, you looked down at it worriedly only to sigh in relief. 

Miraculously, it hadn’t taken severe damage. Nothing not unrepairable. 

That was good. 

You could heal from bruises, concussions, and whatever the hell was thrown at you. But you couldn’t replace this Walkman. 

You idly looked down to see the corpse of the Heavy you had taken down. The armor had gotten large fragments but it looked like the corpse was still intact. With a glance at the retreating MI6 agent, you knelt down quickly, pulling away the armor from the corpse. 

Only a select few got to wear this kind of heavy duty armor. It was a _privilege_ due to the sheer expensiveness and maintenance costs of the armor plates. 

Patting down the corpse, you felt a familiar rectangular shape in one of the pockets on the corpse’s vest. Pulling it out, you found that it was-

...a cassette tape? 

‘ **_Миллион алых роз_ **’ was written on the white label on the cassette tape. 

Your musings were cut short by the crackling of the radio at your waist. The radio jammers must have been destroyed by now.

“If I were you, I’d get to exfil now, Bell. Doc’s waiting for you.” 

You sighed. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure if you were going to face disappointment at how little you contributed to the operation or how you intervened in the operation after the radio jammers went off. 

Either one wasn’t good. 

_Story Time With Adler it was_ , you thought hazily. At least, you liked his voice. There was just an assuredness and husky tone to his voice that was pleasant to listen to…

And with that idle thought in mind, you hurriedly made your way to exfil, trying not to trip on the rocks on the way there with your still wobbly sense of balance. 

* * *

“ _Bell_.” was all the man in question had to say. He took a drag of his cigarette in the helicopter as you reluctantly grabbed the offered oxygen mask in hand and took a deep breath from it. 

After breathing in and out for several seconds, you took off the oxygen mask and smiled with widened eyes as you gave a thumbs up gesture to the man across from you. Maybe you were exaggerating a bit too much but you really did want him to get off your back regarding the matter of oxygen. 

It hadn’t helped you much back during the HALO jump apparently. 

Perhaps, he’d buy into it-

“Bell, it’s oxygen, not cocaine.”

...or maybe not…

And so you resigned yourself to spending the next several hours wearing an oxygen mask while Adler watched you like a hawk while taking drags of his cigarette. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...this was probably the longest chapter I've ever written. I was hellbent on writing out the Angola mission in one chapter, so that's what I did. Anyways, I hope y'all liked this chapter. I did some research in skydiving and HALO jumping for this. Although, there was only a limited amount of information I could find about HALO jumping during the Cold War after Vietnam. Also, this is my first time really writing action scenes like this, so I hoped they turned out okay and not too wordy, boring, or awkward haha. 
> 
> Anyways, this was tiring to write but satisfying and fulfilling in the end. Since this chapter is so long, it'll at least be a couple of days before I update this fic probably. But I will be doing other writing for COD Cold War such as requests and other fic ideas I have. 
> 
> Well, thanks for reading! I hope y'all enjoyed reading this.


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